


clothe, burn, bury

by OctoberDays



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 1 (Critical Role), Gen, Monsters, Old Age, Post-Campaign 1 (Critical Role), Post-Canon, Witchcraft, assume all vox machina characters are dead, fairly large campaign 1 spoilers a la keyleth, features vaguely D&D mechanics, kinda? hard to tell with Keyleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22125655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberDays/pseuds/OctoberDays
Summary: After adventuring, after gaining and loosing a family, after becoming powerful enough to kill dragons and move storms, Keyleth is changed in a way that she only realizes too late. A story of finding family once more, of death from the perspective of one who does not die, and of witnessing the results of burning so bright nature bends to your will.A post-canon possibility of who Keyleth will be after 600 years of living, and what time and fury and grief will do to your heart.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	clothe, burn, bury

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I am thinking about Keyleth after Vox Machina, and also monsters and witchcraft, because why not. This is un-beta'ed and such, so apologies for any mistakes made. Keyleth, Vox Machina, and Exandria belongs to Critical Role, and D&D belongs to Wizards of the Coast!  
> I hope to update at least each month, but who knows. More will come!  
> -Kyrie

Chapter 1- But who am I now after all these years 

There are monsters in the world. _Of course there are._ Keyleth knows this, she’s fought them for a significant portion of her life. Giants, mindflayers, mimics, dragons, demigods, vampires, she knows them all, has fought them all. But in all her days fighting monsters and saving the world, Keyleth never expected to _become_ one.

It started slowly, at first, while Vox Machina was still fighting gods and dragons. Her rage was unconquerable, but that made sense, and anyway, she needed her anger if she wanted to save the world. She was powerful, surrounded by powerful friends, and so her heart twisted slowly and her magic became more vicious and she banished a demigod with her family and she burned and burned and _burned_. And when the love of her life was ripped from her grasp, Keyleth kept on burning, and her fire was fed by grief and sadness and rage and pain. And so she lived.

One thousand years is a long time, and many things change in time spans smaller. She watched her family live and grow, watched the Ashari expand and learn, and the monsters that threatened her family and her people met her wrath, and her flame, and her home stayed protected, in a way she had never been able to. And so the Voice of the Tempest grew also, into something ever so different from who she had once been.

Her brothers and sisters died, one by one, but Keyleth continued. She was not immortal, but even when her lifespan had been that of a half-elf, it was only _her_ doing that caused her death, so immortal, no- but she was very close, and that’s what mattered. They called her the Voice of the Tempest, once, but after long enough, she _was_ the Tempest, and her storms of fire engulfed her. Power is useful, and power is alluring, but power is also very much like fire. It devours you.

Stories of the Tempest of the Ashari are well-known and numerous, but none is so famous as her mysterious disappearance. The story goes as such: once upon a time, the leader of the Air Ashari, Voice of the Tempest and the Tempest herself, wielder of storm and fire, gave her crown to her oldest child, her staff to the second, and her mantle to the youngest, took up a cloak of shadow and smoke, and strode into the forests, never to be seen again. Her people looked for nine days and nine nights, but after all of their searching, the Tempest was never to be seen again. Adventurers still seek her, even after all this time, but the only sign of the once-great leader is a charred black pot, filled with unquenchable fire. The end.

Many people add on, telling about the latest sighting of the long lost Tempest of the Ashari, but none approach the truth- that the Tempest had, after six hundred years, found herself no longer of mortal or half-elven blood, and so she left all she loved in hopes that they would not burn in proximity to her. She traveled far and wide, finding solace in towns so far away from the rest of the world that nobody would be able to find her.

And so, in the depths of a far-out forest, the Tempest found a new haven, and the town of Farretun found a new fairytale.

* * *

Cilka knows not to wander past the river into the forest, but when the options are the forest or the harsh words and harsher fists of the boys chasing her, she can’t help delving into the shadows.

It is almost dark, and so under the shade of the trees, Cilka is bathed in darkness as she runs through trees and over tangled roots. She runs, and runs, her heart beating heavy in her chest, until, chancing a look behind her, she sees only dark, and no sound of her hunters can be found. This presents her with an equally worrisome problem: she does not know where she is, and cannot find the path back to her village. Panicked, Cilka picks a direction and runs, until she knows for a fact she should’ve reached her village by now, and the pale moonlight gives her enough light to realize that some distance ahead of her, the trees thin to reveal a house, and a garden, and a small light coming from the window.

Ignoring the memory of her mother’s voice warning her about monsters and witches in the woods, Cilka rushes forward and knocks at the cottage’s door. She waits, and the door creaks open. A voice, feminine, soft, and alien, accompanies the shadowed outline of a woman. She says, “child, come inside,” beckoning for Cilka to enter, and she obliges.

The woman, who Cilka sees is cloaked in black, her pale skin and red hair reflecting the light of the fire in the corner, leads her to the fire and motions for her to sit down. Warm hands are pressed to Cilka’s head, and the scrapes and bruises from the day fade. The woman sits across from her, letting silence fill the space as Cilka’s thoughts return to her head.

“Thank you,” is all Cilka says, unable to muster anything more. The woman nods in response, and smiles. “Children should not be alone in the dark, and I have been without visitors for so very long. Would you like some tea?”

At Cilka’s nod, the woman stands, setting the kettle on the rack and gathering a collection of earthenware cups and bowls, one of which she hands to Cilka, filled with berries and herbs. The tea is served, and the woman goes back to her seat, watching Cilka with keen eyes.

“Ma’am, what can I call you?” Cilka asks, after the silence grows too heavy for her to bear. The woman tilts her head, thinking. “In this forest, I am Ashes. That is what the trees call me here, so you may as well. And you?”

“My mother calls me Celilka, but Cilka works fine, I suppose. What do you mean by the trees calling you Ashes?”

“The trees talk, if you can listen.” Ashes says, then leans forward. “Would you like to learn?”

Cilka’s mind races, a thousand excuses flying past. _I need to get home, mother will worry, I don’t even know you, this is-_ ”Yes. Please, teach me.” She winces, but Ashes does nothing but lean back and smile. She takes the now-empty bowl and cup from Cilka, and moves to the basin and water jug, cleaning and talking.

“Tomorrow, I can show you how to talk to trees. Tonight, sleep will do you good. Unless you would like to leave?” Turning, Ashes smiles quietly, as if sharing a joke between the two of them. Cilka falters, thinks, and makes up her mind. “I’d like to stay here.”

Ashes comes back to stand in front of Cilka, and for the first time, she realizes how imposing a figure this woman cuts, and how much she wants to learn from this woman of the woods. “I’ll show you where you can sleep, child, and tomorrow, we’ll shape this old house to fit one more.

**Author's Note:**

> If I feel like it, I might have Keyleth go by her actual name instead of Ashes, but right now, this is where we are, and I'm too tired to do anything about it. Please, give your measured opinion!  
> Chapter title from "Confessional" by Hieu Minh Nguyen  
> Comments and kudos much appreciated, and don't forget to appreciate Marisha Ray for all she's done!


End file.
